by Dima Zales
Bert looks at Hillary, silently asking, Can he really override you?
She shrugs and narrows her eyes at me.
I give her my own look that hopefully says, Would I rather be loved or feared? In this case, feared.
“I still don’t think we can sit around doing research while Mira is riding drugged in a van,” Eugene says.
“I wasn’t saying that, though the more I think about it, that might be a good idea,” Hillary says.
“That’s just unacceptable—”
“Let her finish,” Bert says. This is the second time he’s defended her, or maybe my aunt is cheating by making Bert say stuff.
“Sorry, Hillary.” Eugene gives her an apologetic look. “What is your plan?”
“Darren can learn how to reach Level 2 from the people who know how—the Elders,” she says.
“That’s it?” I raise my eyebrows. “Instead of saving Mira, all I have to do is find the Guide equivalent of the Enlightened and take a few lessons?”
“Yes, that’s it, minus the sarcasm,” my aunt says. “And you wouldn’t be aimlessly looking for them. You’d ask your grandparents for help.”
“I’m confused.” Bert looks at his girlfriend. “I thought his grandparents were the very people causing this mess.”
“Not the Leachers.” She sounds only mildly exasperated. “His other grandparents. The ones who also, fortuitously, live in Florida.”
“You mean—” Bert says, then cuts himself off. “I thought you hated their guts.”
“We’re estranged,” Hillary corrects. “And I hope this highlights my commitment to this cause.”
“I do appreciate it,” Eugene says. “But at the same time, I’m not sure this kind of detour—”
“Dude,” Bert says. “They have warrior monks who can’t be Guided, and from what you’ve been saying, Caleb is a deadly opponent. Unless you have access to a secret army?”
“I don’t,” Eugene says. “But Darren and Hillary could maybe—”
“Are you seriously about to suggest that I Guide an actual army to do my bidding?” Hillary asks, her eyebrows drawing together. “The logistics of something like that would be extremely difficult, plus it would get extremely bloody, fast. Since when have you heard of hostage situations being resolved through the army?”
“You could Guide a small band of Navy Seals,” Bert says, clearly getting into the spirit of it. “The guys who took out Bin Laden would make short work of—”
“Right,” Hillary says. “Let’s go to Navy Seals R Us and get some.”
“Enough,” I say in my most commanding voice. Everyone looks at me in shock. “Here’s the breakdown. It will take the vans twenty hours to reach Florida. That’s without stops and with favorable traffic. That gives us some wiggle room. Given that my Guide grandparents are also in Florida, I say Hillary and I visit them, since it’s practically on the way. If I can get to the Elders and they can quickly teach me how to better control my powers, great. If not, we can develop a plan on the fly. Meanwhile, you two can spend a little more time trying to see whether this research leads you anywhere.”
“Even if we cracked this an hour after you left, how would that help?” Eugene asks. “My equipment is here, in the lab.”
“Can you turn a U-Haul truck, or some other type of vehicle, into a mobile lab?” I ask.
“It won’t be easy, but—”
“Money isn’t an obstacle,” I remind him. “I’ll give you my credit card.”
“I’ll help,” Bert says. “I think it’s feasible. I’ll get us some Adderall and—”
“You’re not taking any drugs,” Hillary says. “I can make you focus if that’s what you want.”
“You can do that?” Bert looks excited. “Why didn’t you—”
“Because I like you unaltered,” she says. “If the current situation wasn’t dire enough . . .”
“Okay,” I say. “Your destination will be Apalachicola. It’s a town near the Temple. Hillary and I will fly out, which will buy us some time.”
Eugene turns to my friend. “Bert, can you get them the tickets?”
“On it,” Bert says and walks up to the computer. The monkey glances at him suspiciously when she hears the sounds of the keyboard.
“You’ll fly to Tallahassee, right? That’s the nearest airport to that town,” Bert says.
“No,” Hillary says. “My parents are too far from there. They’re closer to the Jacksonville or Orlando airports.”
“Okay, let me see what I can do,” he says and starts typing. He’s about to repeat that trick where he bumps people off the plane. At least the airline will comp them, which marginally beats Hillary or me Guiding people to give up their seats—my plan B.
“You know,” I say once I verify that I got my boarding pass on my phone, “this plan also takes care of something else. If I learn this Level 2 phasing, I’ll be able to protect you guys should the Super Pusher show up again.”
“Yeah, about that.” Hillary looks uncomfortable. “I wasn’t sure I wanted to bring this up, but how do we know this whole kidnapping isn’t, at the core, this Super Pusher’s doing?”
“And if it is, this person will be waiting for us at the Temple,” Eugene says, his forehead creasing with worry. “She’ll be ready to turn me, and even you, Hillary, against you guys.”
“Right.” Hillary gives me a steady look. “So you see how we can’t ignore the Super Pusher issue?”
“Wait,” I say, recalling one key element. “This plan has a fatal flaw.”
“What do you mean?” Hillary asks.
“Remember when you first told me about the Level 2 ability and how it was rumored that some of the Elders possessed it?”
“Yeah,” Hillary says. “At that pizzeria in Miami.”
“Right. You didn’t mention this at the time, but can anyone other than the Elders utilize Level 2?”
She bites her lip. “No one that I know of. I was hoping to talk to you about this on the way.”
“Wait,” Eugene says. “You’re walking Darren into a possible enemy hideout?”
“No,” Hillary says tersely. “At least not exactly.”
“It’s sure starting to sound that way,” I say. “If the Super Pusher is an Elder, is going to see her friends such a good idea?”
“Yes, it is,” Hillary says. “Given all that I know about the Elders, they wouldn’t sanction what this person has done. Which means that if this is an Elder, she’s working on her own and you might learn who it is once you’re there. And then you can figure out a way to neutralize her.”
“So besides convincing them to teach him some secret technique, Darren will need to play detective as well?” Eugene says incredulously.
“The detective part might not be as hard as it seems,” I say slowly. “We know this person was at, or near, Kyle’s funeral.”
“Exactly,” Hillary says. “And the Elders are also reclusive, so the list of suspects will likely be small. This plan still beats going to the Enlightened Temple unprepared and risking getting everyone’s minds fucked with.”
“So,” Bert chimes in, clearly trying to defuse the tension between Eugene and his girl, “even if Darren doesn’t learn the identity of the enemy, if he learns how to do this Level 2 thing, could he undo what was done to Mira and Thomas? What about preventing you two from being Guided?”
“I think Darren was right when he said the effect on Mira and Thomas wouldn’t last,” Hillary says. “But you’re also right that yes, in principle, he could undo things done to us, though not really prevent them.”
“I don’t know what to say,” Eugene says thoughtfully. “There are too many variables in this equation. Something is bound to go wrong.”
“Darren’s life wouldn’t be in danger,” Hillary says. “The Elders, as a group, don’t want him harmed.”
“What makes you so sure?” I ask. When it comes to people wanting to kill me, my curiosity works overtime.
“If the Elders wan
ted you dead, you’d be dead,” Hillary says. “Trust me.”
“Knowing Darren’s luck, they might want him dead once they meet him,” Eugene says. “No offense, Darren.”
“I make my own luck,” I say., waving my hand to show I’m not offended. “Given what Hillary just said, I’ll be super charming to these Elders. You just wait and see.”
“Oh, they’ll love him,” Hillary says. “My vote is to stick with this plan, with your research as a possible backup.”
“Since Darren is the one who’s walking into the potential hornet’s nest, I say he makes the final call,” Bert says. “It’s only fair.”
Everyone goes quiet and looks at me expectantly.
I look at each of them.
Hillary looks worried, Eugene is tense, and Bert looks very serious.
I can’t bear the idea of my friends turning on me again. If for no other reason than that, I decide to go with this plan.
“Come on, Aunty,” I say. “We have a plane to catch.”
Tension dissipates, except Bert’s face changes from serious to sad.
“So this is goodbye,” he says, looking at Hillary like a puppy that lost its favorite chew toy. “I’ll see you in a bit?”
Instead of replying, Hillary walks over and kisses him.
I look at Eugene and see a hint of laughter in his eyes, but then he’s serious again. I phase into the Quiet to say a few words to him in private.
The world around me stops. As though they have a mind of their own, my legs bring me to Kiki instead of Eugene. Despite the important task ahead, I can’t resist this temptation.
I want to Read the chimp.
I walk up to her and put my hand on her face (or is it a snout?). Her fur (or is it hair?) feels softer than it looks. I concentrate, wondering whether this will work at all, and then I’m in.
* * *
We warm. We happy. We not bored. We full.
I, Darren, disassociate from Kiki’s thoughts. It’s incredible. She actually has thoughts in the same sense as people do. But there’s more to it than that. The way she perceives the world is eerily human, and yet different. There’s a childlike wonder about her surroundings. A strange contentment seems to be suppressing a number of her basic urges, and it takes me a second to figure out that Kiki is being Guided. It must be Hillary’s work, and it explains the chimp’s good behavior.
Disappointed that I’m not getting a true experience of an ape being her animal self, I exit Kiki’s head while mentally adding ‘Read a regular ape’ to my to-do list. It goes somewhere between ‘Read a dolphin’ and ‘Read the Pope.’
* * *
Done with Kiki, I walk up to Eugene and pull him in.
“Darren,” my friend says. “I was about to pull you in myself.”
I pause, searching for the best words, then blurt out, “I wanted to say that if it comes to it, I’ll do whatever’s necessary to get Mira out. I won’t let Hillary’s pacifism get in the way.”
“Thank you.” Eugene’s eyes gleam. “I mean it. Thanks.”
“Don’t even mention it. What did you want to tell me?”
“You read my mind.” He chuckles. “I wanted to see if I could count on you should—”
“You can.”
“Good. There’s something else I wanted to tell you. You’ve been very good for Mira.”
“I’ve been good for her?” He took me completely by surprise.
“You’ve been a positive influence in her life,” Eugene explains. “Transformative, even.”
“Me?” I stare at him. “All right, if you say so.”
“I mean it,” Eugene says seriously. “Did she tell you she’s been studying for her GED?”
“No.” I blink, taken aback. “She didn’t mention it.”
“Well, she is, and that’s just one thing. She’s been happier lately. Warmer. She’s more and more like she was before—” He swallows, clearly thinking about their parents’ deaths.
“Oh, okay,” I say uncomfortably.
If by ‘warmer’ he means less homicidal, then yes, I’ve noticed that. If by ‘happier’ he means she doesn’t deliver those treatises about the pointlessness of life, then yeah, that’s improved too. I thought these things were due to Mira finally getting her revenge and had little to do with me. Well, my shooting Jacob helped her get her revenge, and killing Kyle—again my doing—completely closed that revenge chapter of her life. But I’m sure that’s not what Eugene means when he credits me with Mira’s improvements.
I don’t voice my doubts, though, and with as much bravado as I can muster, I say, “Let’s do this.”
“Yeah,” he says and shakes my hand.
I phase out of the Quiet, and as soon as Bert and Hillary become animated, I say, “So you’re controlling the monkey.”
“Just until she gets to the reserve,” Hillary says.
“Uh-huh.” I know it’s not appropriate, but I can’t resist. “And if you hadn’t Guided it, and it was being bad, do you think Bert would spank it?”
Chapter 6
The ride to the airport, the flight, and the trip from Jacksonville pass uneventfully. My injuries aren’t bothering me too much, likely due to the painkillers, but I’m not very talkative and thus get an earful of Hillary’s unfiltered propaganda. I now know how Bert became a pescatarian, or ovo-lacto vegetarian, or whatever my former meat-and-potatoes friend is nowadays. Hillary gives me a laundry list of problems that allegedly stem from eating meat, things that range from heart disease to cancer. If I give up red meat anytime soon, I’ll know whom to blame.
She also uses the opportunity to tell me about exotic pets—a topic she was about to launch into at the lab when Eugene interrupted her.
Apparently, there are people who are uneducated enough about wildlife and lack self-preservation to the point where they’re willing to take on a chimpanzee as a pet. Worse, some try to keep lions, or other creatures that actually want to eat them, as pets. Half the time these people end up really messing up these animals. For instance, some people declaw their lions, which is a polite way of saying that the tips of the lions’ fingers are amputated. When that’s done to a cat, according to Hillary, they develop all sorts of walking problems. All that maiming doesn’t even cover the psychological harm of living in unnaturally cramped conditions. My aunt has apparently been working on putting an end to this practice and owns a rescue in upstate New York.
I have to give her credit for style. The whole rescue runs on large monetary donations contributed by the pets’ former owners (Guided by Hillary), who also comprise the workforce. I appreciate the irony of these people cleaning up the dung of the very animals they abused. Even if I don’t feel as strongly about it as my aunt does, the idea that these abused creatures finally get to roam in spacious habitats is comforting. Also, not that I was ever going to get a cat, but if I did, I wouldn’t declaw it, not if it’s the equivalent of cutting a human finger at the knuckle.
Realizing that Hillary’s gotten to me, I reflect on how my aunt is good at influencing people, even without needing to resort to Guiding.
Hillary becomes more subdued the closer we get to our destination. As we wait to be let into the Palm Haven private community, she’s completely silent. I understand why. She’s never forgiven her parents for disowning Margret, her older sister and my biological mom. I think part of her may even blame them for Margret’s murder, even though we know Kyle was really at fault. I have mixed feelings about meeting my grandparents, so I can’t even imagine what it’s like for Hillary.
“You don’t have to join me,” I say as the security guard Hillary must’ve Guided lets us through. “You can wait in the car.”
“That’s insane,” she says, turning right at the first intersection. “You can’t just walk in and say, ‘Hi, I’m your grandson.’”
“Why not?” I glance at her. “That’s exactly what I’d do.”
“I know.” She parks the rental car next to a faded pink house with a large, dry pa
lm tree next to it. “That’s why I’m doing all the talking.”
“Okay.” I slam the car door closed a little too strongly.
She walks up to the house and rings the doorbell.
No one answers for a while, so Hillary knocks on the door with her tiny fist.
The door opens.
A man stands there. He has a look of utter shock, but quickly hides it. Hillary must be the last person he expected to see on his doorstep.
Who is he? He looks too young to be Hillary’s father, let alone Margret’s, who would’ve been older than this dude. He looks to be in his mid-thirties, at most. The only thing that makes me think this guy is older is his eyes. They look weary from life, like the eyes of some elderly people.
“George,” Hillary says, her voice like dry ice. “What are you doing here?”
“The same as you, I imagine,” the man—George—says.
“I doubt we’re here for the same reason,” my aunt says.
“Wait.” George frowns at her. “You mean you didn’t hear?”
“About you being one of the Ambassadors? I did. Congratulations.”
He sighs. “No, about Ronald.”
“What about him?”
“You better come inside,” George says and opens the door wider.
As we enter, I get a sense of déjà vu. It’s as though I’ve walked into Gamma and PopPop’s house. My mom Sara’s parents also live in Florida, and their house has the same dated furniture, is similarly dusty and unkempt, and has the same musty smell. There’s also a faint hint of garlic, not unlike Nana and Granpop’s house—Lucy’s parents. I’m glad those two live in Queens, as it would be beyond odd to have four sets of grandparents living in Florida.
Having three is strange enough.
George leads us into the kitchen, where an old woman is standing with a cup of tea. When she sees Hillary, her eyes widen, and she shakily puts her cup down on the counter.
When she speaks, her voice sounds bitter. “Is this what it takes to get you to visit? One of us needs to suffer?”